Going back to relive my non-existant childhood.
Well, today is the day that I must make my reluctant voyage back home. I will return. My hair will be critiqued. Family will ask why I dont shave regularly and I will be tempted to ask why they dont take their medication regularly.
Thanksgiving day I will make a short stop at my fathers familys celebration where a few years ago it was implied that I was a pedophile because I was dating a girl two years younger than myself.
I will then continue on to visit with my mothers side of the family. A twenty mile drive that I do not have the money for. I will then be scrutinized by a new group of people however this time in a much more light hearted and jovial tone. The Lewis side of my family consists of people who very closely resemble the description of Santa Clause; jolly, fat, and with type 2 diabetes. At this point I will enjoy the one good aspect of going home. Free food in large quantities. I will gorge myself homemade maccaroni and sauteed turkey until the tryptophan finally kicks in and gives me the peace and serenity that I will need once my uncle gets on another long rant about how you can tell if a cow has enough nitrogen in its diet by the color of its shit and the force with which the excrement exits the animal.
I dont fit in with my family. I do not aspire to be a farmer and Myrtle Beach S.C. is not my idea of high society.
The most dredded aspect of home i guess would be the utter lack of distraction or reprieve from those with whom i share genetic information. Every town in the area is just a "Main street" surrounded by a small ring of houses and shacks. These towns were built around the staple crop of the area, tobacco. I feel sorry for these people because they have little education. They have no knowledge of the world outside of north-eastern South Carolina. Then without warning the government started charging them to grow their crops. Then told them that they could only grow a certain amount. Then began to call them murderers for simply doing the only thing that they have ever known. Riding through these towns is a particular kind of distant depression. Seeing the block where Daniels Wharehouse used to be, now occupied by a couple of shards of broken brick and a sign that hopelessly begs for someone to buy this land even though most are scraping just to get by, brings back a tiny bit of nostalgia for and era that i despised to begin with.
Hearing my mom bounce back and forth between sanity and an all-out psychotic episode is no fun either. Well, i guess it COULD be fun if it wasnt for the fact that shes my mom. Its like watching an episode of "Threes Company" except imagine that all the characters are being played by my mom.
I would look forward to seeing my pets but i have the two most mediocre dogs ever. They have no defining characteristics. They never get excited, tired, happy or sad. We do have a new one however that i have only met once and i think that she is retarded. I threw her a milk-bone and she ran into my parked car. If it wasnt for the fact that i know my neighbors cant afford it i would think that they were hopping her up on cocaine at a constant.
Anyway, the time has come for me to get food and try to absorb enough civilization to hold me over while i drive down dirt roads and have to pop quick U-turns to avoid the slumbering redneck camped in the middle of the road with a plastic lawn-chair, a shot-gun, and a nearly empty case of beer. Good day to you all.
Thanksgiving day I will make a short stop at my fathers familys celebration where a few years ago it was implied that I was a pedophile because I was dating a girl two years younger than myself.
I will then continue on to visit with my mothers side of the family. A twenty mile drive that I do not have the money for. I will then be scrutinized by a new group of people however this time in a much more light hearted and jovial tone. The Lewis side of my family consists of people who very closely resemble the description of Santa Clause; jolly, fat, and with type 2 diabetes. At this point I will enjoy the one good aspect of going home. Free food in large quantities. I will gorge myself homemade maccaroni and sauteed turkey until the tryptophan finally kicks in and gives me the peace and serenity that I will need once my uncle gets on another long rant about how you can tell if a cow has enough nitrogen in its diet by the color of its shit and the force with which the excrement exits the animal.
I dont fit in with my family. I do not aspire to be a farmer and Myrtle Beach S.C. is not my idea of high society.
The most dredded aspect of home i guess would be the utter lack of distraction or reprieve from those with whom i share genetic information. Every town in the area is just a "Main street" surrounded by a small ring of houses and shacks. These towns were built around the staple crop of the area, tobacco. I feel sorry for these people because they have little education. They have no knowledge of the world outside of north-eastern South Carolina. Then without warning the government started charging them to grow their crops. Then told them that they could only grow a certain amount. Then began to call them murderers for simply doing the only thing that they have ever known. Riding through these towns is a particular kind of distant depression. Seeing the block where Daniels Wharehouse used to be, now occupied by a couple of shards of broken brick and a sign that hopelessly begs for someone to buy this land even though most are scraping just to get by, brings back a tiny bit of nostalgia for and era that i despised to begin with.
Hearing my mom bounce back and forth between sanity and an all-out psychotic episode is no fun either. Well, i guess it COULD be fun if it wasnt for the fact that shes my mom. Its like watching an episode of "Threes Company" except imagine that all the characters are being played by my mom.
I would look forward to seeing my pets but i have the two most mediocre dogs ever. They have no defining characteristics. They never get excited, tired, happy or sad. We do have a new one however that i have only met once and i think that she is retarded. I threw her a milk-bone and she ran into my parked car. If it wasnt for the fact that i know my neighbors cant afford it i would think that they were hopping her up on cocaine at a constant.
Anyway, the time has come for me to get food and try to absorb enough civilization to hold me over while i drive down dirt roads and have to pop quick U-turns to avoid the slumbering redneck camped in the middle of the road with a plastic lawn-chair, a shot-gun, and a nearly empty case of beer. Good day to you all.
posted by Seth Parham at 12:39 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home